No Return
by Dracomom
Summary: Takes place after Episode 19 "The Return"- Mr. Gold's thoughts on the events therein. Interior monologue. N/B: I don't think there are any spoilers here, but if you haven't seen up to "The Return" it won't make any sense! I did watch the whole season, so I may be biased. Love it, hate it, but be specific as to why!


Mr. Gold- Rumplestiltskin- strode swiftly through the moonlit woods despite the ache in his leg. Ghosting from one bit of shadow to the next as silently as a great dark moth. Cradling the Dagger that had determined his fate for centuries. Cursing himself for a fool.

Most of Storybrooke's residents had long since drawn their curtains for the night. No one was likely to see him. Yet old habits died hard. He stopped to slip the Dagger into the sock of his bad leg before he reached the outskirts of town.

His bearing was as proudly erect as ever, the slight change of gait caused by the hidden weapon scarcely perceptible. His saturnine countenance gave no hint of the roiling fury within. No observer could have guessed at the devastating events of the past hour from his demeanor.

He had dared to imagine he might be granted a happy ending. The broken shards of those pleasant visions retained the power to slice his soul to ribbons with their blissful promise of a bright future. With Bae. An end to all his years of searching.

He'd wanted so badly to believe that Bae had found him- hoping against hope that his beautiful boy would forgive him the cowardice that had separated them for so long. He'd found the courage to demonstrate the depth of his faith in his beloved son, asking him to destroy the cursed Dagger. Now he was forced to conceal the fateful blade again. Forced to confront reality.

He scoffed at his own naivete- he should know the rarity of a truly happy ending better than most. He just hadn't wanted to remember. Those who achieved a measure of success had to pay the price. And pay they would…

_Curse ye, August Booth! _He deserved to die of- well, whatever the lack of magic was doing tohim.Slowly, and painfully_. _Not a quick thrust of the Dagger; that would be far too merciful given the extent of the writer's deception. Brief flashes of artistic vengeance he had wreaked upon fools who'd attempted to deceive him in the past, or to renege on the deals they'd made, drifted up from the vast store of memory. He considered reenacting a few of his favorites, starring Booth. Far more amusing in his present mood than the broken fantasies of domestic harmony.

Searing red blazed in his mind's eye, the angry light of a raging bonfire. _Curse ye, Reul Ghorm!_ Booth had admitted her complicity in his attempt at controlling the Dark One. The hatred festering in his heart for her interference drove out all rational thought for a time. _She_ was the cause of the first and deepest wound, and all the pain that had followed after. He yearned for the opportunity to squash the Blue Fairy like the flittering insect she resembled.

But _She _ought to have known that the Dagger could no longer command him; she'd chosen this land specifically for its lack of magic. Had she forgotten that tiny detail, over the course of centuries? He sauntered through the darkened town, wrapped in shadows, rapt in contemplation of this satisfying notion.

Had the Blue Star failed in her attempts to shield herself against the Dark Curse? Had she in fact _lost_ her memories of the Enchanted Forest, of her magics and their past dealings? Perhaps.

Mr. Gold dealt with the Mother Superior as little as possible (just long enough to collect the rent she owed him), and the rest of the nuns not at all. The antipathy he'd always felt had ripened into hatred when he recovered his memories; that first night at Granny's, when he'd heard Miss Swan introduce herself. He wondered whether Reul Ghorm had truly forgotten their homeland; had her memories reawakened with Emma's arrival?

Or might they still lie dormant?

The Evil Queen, as the caster of the Dark Curse, had always retained her memories of both worlds. Now she was Mayor Mills, ruling the town with a charming smile and an iron fist. If the Mother Superior had revealed any knowledge of their previous existence while they had all been trapped here in Storybrooke, the Mayor would have realized it- even if Mr. Gold wouldn't have noticed.

No hint of change would escape Regina. Stasis meant that the power flows maintaining the Curse were undiminished, holding strong against the forces of time and inertia. Although the Mayor had introduced the major source of variation herself, by adopting Henry…

Mr. Gold limped up the steps of the pink stucco house he'd lived in for more than a quarter-century. If his leg pained him this badly already, he'd definitely be feeling this evening's exertions tomorrow morning after his abused muscles stiffened up. He contemplated sleeping in, as he relocked his front door behind him.

No- Kathryn's return alive, and Mary Margaret's release, would be a nine-days' wonder. He needed to keep an ear to the ground, to find out whether anyone guessed the true extent of his involvement. Much easier to take the pulse of the town from his shop. And if anyone was aware of his midnight foray, he did not wish to be thought weak.

He had been weak; letting sentiment overpower his innate caution. All the more vital to maintain the façade of control tomorrow. If they thought he was vulnerable… The Blue Fairy would be watching, surely, as soon as Booth spoke with her. Regina always watched everyone, especially him. And there were others in Storybrooke just waiting for him to stumble- or there would be, had they all regained their memories.

August had tried to play on his weakness; but the writer had lost that gamble. He'd have lost a great deal more, if not for his relationship with Sheriff Swan. Gold smiled grimly. It all came back to Emma, didn't it, in the end? And Bae.

He walked carefully through the unlit living room. The staircase loomed in the darkness, and suddenly the hike up to his bedroom appeared insurmountable. He groaned at the thought.

Chances were, even if he did manage to make it upstairs, he'd be too sore to get much sleep anyway. And the physical aches seemed trivial compared with the roiling tumult of his anguished thoughts. _Perhaps a little self-medication was in order?_

A crystal decanter of scotch and matching glasses waited on the sideboard. He poured three fingers of the McCutcheon before gingerly lowering himself to the couch. He propped his throbbing leg up to remove the Dagger from its makeshift sheath and examine it yet again for bloodstains, thankful he hadn't sliced himself open during the walk home.

How many nights had he sat here in the dark, lost in his thoughts, since he'd regained his identity? Remembering the past. Contemplating the future. Calculating the odds of success, and devising schemes to weight the balance in his favor. Not many nights by the calendar, perhaps; but they stretched longer in his recollection than the decades before.

He laid the oddly curved blade on the coffee table before him and sipped his drink, considering. He sighed as the smoky bite of good scotch burned its way down, laying a thin veneer of calm over the maelstrom of his thoughts.

How great a mistake had it been to consult Dr. Hopper that afternoon? Admittedly, he'd needed to confide in someone, if only to settle things in his own mind. The psychiatric code of ethics ought to preclude Archie from discussing his revelations with anyone. The threat of having his rent doubled or tripled could be held in reserve, as insurance.

Still, Archie wasn't a saint- he'd be wondering. The reclusive Mr. Gold had a son, whom he had lost, who might have returned. Everyone knew that there was only one male stranger in town- August.

The writer's courtship of Miss Swan (now explained as an effort to get her to believe in magic) was the talk of Storybrooke. Should Booth convince Emma that magic was real, she'd break the Curse and fulfill her destiny. That was the reason for her existence, and perhaps Henry's too. Then, it would be time to settle that account… and the Reul Ghorm's.

Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth, realizing anew how thoroughly he'd been played for a fool. The Mother Superior- the Blue Fairy- revealed just enough of her conversation with August to lead him down the garden path. _She must have known!_ Her words were far too apt to be coincidence.

He wondered whether it had been a deliberate trap on her part, or if she had merely taken advantage of his questioning to twist the knife. His own longing could have done the rest.

That, and the drawing of the Dagger he'd found in August's room at Granny's. How had Booth gotten that? And from whom? He'd been so careful to ensure that no one ever saw the Dagger, and to eliminate anyone who did…

Another sip of scotch, its burn across his tongue more palatable than his memories. Bae must have told Reul Ghorm somewhat of the Dagger when she'd given him the bean. Not all, but enough.

Had his innocent son realized that information was the price he'd paid for her "gift"? Small wonder she'd granted it to the boy, precious as the magic bean was- if the Dark One left the realm, she would once again hold the greatest power in the land. He felt another spasm of vicious hatred for the Blue Star. At least, by staying behind, he had thrown her scheming awry.

Recalling the swirling vortex of power, he shuddered. Reliving the terror of those few seconds; the fear of giving up the magic which had given him power for the first time in his pitiable existence; the anguish of hearing his beloved son shouting _"Coward!"_.He was never certain which was worse- the pain of that naming, or the next moment, when the boy's hand slid from his to disappear into the green light of the portal. Or the last, when he realized boy and portal had vanished forever.

More scotch, and a few tears awkwardly wiped away with the wool sleeve of his suit jacket. Bae had been furious at the betrayal of his hopes for their future. Would his son- perhaps no longer a boy- even want to see his traitorous father after the bitterness of such a parting?

His own panicked indecision had forced Bae to battle this new world alone. It wasn't always a friendly place for children on their own- Sheriff Swan was proof enough of that.

Soon Emma would have her chance to break the Curse, freeing Rumplestiltskin to regain his lost son. He had done what he could to ensure that the Dark Curse deposited them in Storybrooke prior to Bae's emergence on this plane; knowing that they would all be trapped until the Savior grew up. Still, the time differentials could not be calculated precisely. Desperately he hoped that his timing had been close enough. And that his twenty-eight years in Storybrooke had been sufficient to acclimate him to this new reality.

He had scoured the Internet for traces of Bae's arrival, as far back as online newspapers permitted. Court records, too- slow going, those, but plenty of information.. There were a handful of clues; even a pair of grainy black-and-white photographs. Most notably, one of a darkhaired teen whose name the caption reported as "David Balfour". Not much to go by, perhaps, but he couldn't afford to ignore any of the meager possibilities.

He could be mistaken. Or deceived, as this night's events had so painfully proven.

Fortunately, he no longer wore the face of the Dark One. Few of this world's natives would be comfortable dealing with anyone so visibly marked, even if he'd left his fearsome reputation at home. Rumplestiltskin now spoke like an educated man, dressed like one. His air of consequence would be taken as evidence of wealth and influence- there were so many self-made millionaires in the United States. Gold was gold, same as at home. He smiled wryly at the pun.

People were much the same as well. He could read their expressions, sense their thoughts from their postures and mannerisms. Even Emma Swan proved little challenge. Her guarded expression barely concealed the distrust she felt toward him, her concern for the son she had never known, and her resentment of Regina. Which the mayor had returned, with interest.

He could understand, even sympathize with their conflict. Regina had asked him to find her a baby, as he had done for so many other childless queens. Mr. Gold was the logical person to make all the arrangements, being the only lawyer in town. He'd managed it deftly enough even without remembering all his previous deals. So infant Henry came to Storybrooke.

The mayor's maternal instincts were quite commendable, really- Regina raised him strictly as far as this world was concerned (but positively indulged him, compared with her own mother). The Dark Curse was stretched to accommodate the boy as he grew older- the only child in town who did. Henry was observant enough to realize he was different from the other children, intelligent enough to wonder why, and shrewd enough to start putting the pieces together once he'd gotten his hands on the Book. Henry's only mistake was asking his mother too many questions.

Mayor Mills immediately brought him to Dr. Hopper, the pyschiatrist.

Thanks to Regina's protestations, the adults of Storybrooke considered the lad no more than a highly imaginative child, living in a fantasy world of his own construction. The other children usually avoided him. The fear of his mother they'd learned from their own parents was compounded by the disapproval of their peers and the discomfort brought on by discussing Henry's theories.

Still, Henry persisted because he believed he was right- much like his grandparents in that, he was. He went to Boston to find his birth mother, Emma Swan. She returned with him to Storybrooke on her twenty-eighth birthday, as Rumplestiltskin had foretold. The promised savior.

Much to the dismay of his adoptive mother- Regina, the Evil Queen.

Mr. Gold would have handled things more deftly had he been in Regina's place. An initial surprise, followed by monitored visitations and exposure to all the least enjoyable aspects of parenthood, might have caused Emma to relinquish Henry. Regina's open hostility roused Emma's suspicions and her latent maternal instincts. Attempts to drive her away only solidified Miss Swan's resolve.

The conditions of the Dark Curse were extremely specific. It could only be broken by the savior, child of the fairest in the land and her true love- and only during her twenty-eighth year. In Regina's place, he'd have tried delaying action rather than a frontal assault. If Emma reached her twenty-ninth birthday before completing her task, the Curse would never break.

Emma Swan. Fierce, determined, and part of this world in ways none of Storybrooke's inhabitants could be. Despite her birth in the Enchanted Forest, Emma had grown up a native of Boston, enabling her to navigate the world they'd arrived in. She knew the rules, knew the system. She'd made a living finding people who didn't want to be found.

If he could use her to find his son…

He sipped thoughtfully from his refilled glass- good scotch, that was another advantage of this new world. There were no distillers back home, save for the odd alchemist or perfumer. He pondered the possibilties of remaining here- settling in one of the larger cities perhaps, where eccentricities were tolerated in those wealthy enough to indulge them. Or traveling- he imagined visiting some of the exotic locales he'd seen on television, sharing the adventure with his son.

Of course, he'd have to find Bae first. Find him, and talk to him. He suspected the latter would prove a more difficult task. He'd confessed as much to Dr. Hopper- had it been only this afternoon? So much had happened since then! The turmoil of confusing emotions that had led to that abortive session still swirled within him, beneath the simmering rage he felt for the man who'd attempted to control him. Booth didn't realize how truly lucky he was to still be alive.

It would be difficult to persuade Emma to help him if she suspected he had killed someone she cared about, no matter how many favors she owed him. And Emma was the only one who could retrieve what he desired from the place it had been hidden since before the Dark Curse was cast.

Then he, Rumplestiltskin, would finally achieve the goal he had been working toward for centuries. Regina would be furious when she realized the extent of his carefully laid plans. He grinned at the thought of her consternation, and raised his glass in a mocking toast.

"Better luck next time, Your Majesty!"

His voice resonated oddly through the quiet room, and he realized he'd spoken aloud.

The unlit room was no longer dark, but greying toward dawn. He tossed back the last swallow of scotch and dragged himself excruciatingly up off of the couch. He retrieved the Dagger from the table before him- he'd need to find a more appropriate hiding place, and soon. But the safe in his study would do for today.

As he limped painfully upstairs to shower and change, Rumplestiltskin prayed that he would find his boy at last. And wondered if there was anything else he could do to ensure it.


End file.
